Arma Feminaque Cano
by Vega Cataline
Summary: Months after Troy has been defeated and the few surviving Trojans escaped, a daughter is born to Briseis, Achilles' daughter. According to her destiny written by those ruling Olympian powers together with the Fates, the girl has an important part to play


A/N: K, here's the deal – for my lovely little fic I'm combining both movie and epic poem verse, so if it seems like I have a fact or two out of place or something added, remember that I'm weaving the two together. I love the classics and I was so happy they finally made a good epic of the Trojan War (not the mention that it starred the beautiful Brad Pitt  ). This baby's been buzzing about in my mind since I saw the movie but it only just recently (last night) came on full force. But enough about that, you want the story, so here it is! Review please and let me know what you think!

_**Arma feminaque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris**_

**_Italiam fato profuga Lavinaque venit_**

**_litora – multa illa et terries jactata et alto_**

**_vi superum, saevi memorem Parisis ob iram_**

_The Trojan War has been ended for seven years. During this time, the remaining Trojans have been following the leadership of Paris and Aeneas, sailing the harsh waters of the Mediterranean, ever pursued by the cruel wrath of Juno. After months of aborted landings and ruined beginnings, the Trojan ships have put in at Chaonia in Greecian Epirus. To their surprise, they encounter the Trojan prophet, Helenus, now ruler of Epirus, together with his new wife, Andromache, the widow of Hector son of Priam. _

The five figures were gathered on soft cloth mats around a warmly blazing fire. Starry night peeked through the wide uncovered windows in curiosity and sent her emissary, the cool night breeze to observe the proceedings. The flickering flames illuminated their faces briefly, creating sharp, fleeting profiles and shadows.

"How can this not be a new home for the Trojans, Helenus! The very presence of Andromache here should prove otherwise!" cried a young man with cropped curly brown hair and clad in a teal tunic, arm outstretched towards the woman across from him.

"I only tell you as I am told, Paris," answered an older man without outward sign of being perturbed by the younger man's obvious frustration, "The place which you seek lies on the western coast of Italy."

Paris opened his mouth to speak again but a calm hand on his shoulder stopped him in mid-breath.

"Is there no other feasible plan, Helenus?"

"This is what the gods have told me."

"Could not our followers choose whether or not to go or stay? Many are weary of the long travel and fearful of the ocean's rage, especially the women. It would be a mercy to allow them the choice."

Helenus hesitated. "You speak truly, Aeneas. But are you certain that enough Trojans would remain with you? The gods are not entirely clear on this point but I feel that they intend to make a nation of you and your people – if you reach Italy."

Aeneas nodded once. "Yes, I feel sure that many men would stay. Most have no possessions, no families, no ties but to each other after the destruction of Troy. A city already grown with a populace already established is no place for them. They dream of a new city which they can rule."

"I see no problems with that course of action then. Of all the many men I saw in my vision, the only one whose face I saw definitively was yours, Aeneas. The others who go along are of no matter so long as they are of sufficient number. But you, Aeneas, are the gods' chosen to lead the Trojan people to their new home."

"Aeneas!" cried Paris, at the prophet ruler's last words, "Him? I am the rightful king of Troy!"

"Your brother was the rightful king of Troy!" exclaimed Andromache, half rising from her seat. "And you killed him, bringing that pestilence of Greeks upon us, the hungry locusts eating us alive! And for what? For that unfaithful whore of a woman!"

She rose and ran from the room, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. The female figure seated between Paris and Aeneas began to rise to follow and comfort her cousin but was stopped by the upraised arm of Helenus.

"She will be fine. The grief of her husband and son's passing is still fresh for her. She goes to the two tombs she has had built for them to raise her voice and call for their shades to enter into them instead of wandering forever through upper airs. This conversation holds no further importance for her, but you must hear it, Briseis.

"You must set sail on the morrow. Give your people the word of their choice as soon as Aurora's rays touch the horizon and tell them they must decide by the time the sun has reached its zenith. Know too that you must not land on the eastern coast of Italy for it is infested with Greeks who would do you much harm. Neither must you choose the fastest route to the western coast for along that passage lies a treacherous strait. On one side, the whirlpool Charybdis, on the other, the fearsome six-headed monster, Scylla. To pass without loss is impossible. You must sail south, around the island of Sicily and approach the western coast from the north.

"Now, go! Make ready! Use this information and plan wisely!"

The remaining three of Helenus's guests rose to depart but once again, his upraised hand stopped Briseis. He gestured to the two men to continue and waited until their footsteps had died away before speaking again.

"I see in your eyes that you have already made your choice."

The young woman ducked her head, avoiding meeting Helenus' eyes. "Yes. For me there was no choice. I can stand the endless travel and uncertainty no longer."

Helenus smiled gently, "But that is not the whole truth is it, Briseis? Paris's company grates at you, does it not?"

At this she raised her head and stared directly into Helenus' eyes. "He is my cousin!"

"And that makes it hurt all the worse. Your very cousin killed your very love."

"And reminds my daughter of her father's 'atrocious deeds' every day."

"Briseis, I must tell you, regardless of you decision and regardless of that of Paris, the girl must continue on to Italy. I did not wish to tell Aeneas, and certainly not Paris, but Aeneas' was not the only face I saw definitively. Aye! It was the only man's I did, but not the only at all. I saw your daughter, Astyra, with him in Italy. She too, has an important part in the destiny of the Trojan race though the gods did not see fit to reveal the nature of this part."

Briseis said nothing. What could she say? Every thought told her to stay here, with her friend Helenus and her cousin Andromache. Epirus was a place she would be welcomed and cared for. Perhaps love was even a possibility. Certainly more so than it was under Paris' eye. But every instinct told her to go, to be with her daughter and to protect her against the whip-like tongue of Paris. Her struggle must have shown on her face because Helenus reached over and pulled her into a strong, fatherly hug. This reminded her of Priam, the man who had been the father she had never known, finding room in his heart for her even among all his numerous sons and daughters. The anguish in her heart grew even greater, spilling out in hot, heavy tears and the night breeze whistled softly back out the window to bring its tidings to the wondering night.

The rays of Helios beat down heavily upon beach and harbor and the men sweated as they hauled barrel after barrel of the precious provisions provided by Helenus aboard their ships. Aeneas moved among them, directing, ordering and encouraging. Paris had retired for the moment to his flag ship, assuring himself of Helen's comfort. The company that was to sail in an hour's time was mostly male. Of the many women who had managed to escape the destruction of Troy and join Aeneas and Paris in their escape, almost none found the desire to continue upon the uncertain sea voyage. Instead, they found comfort in remaining under the rule of Helenus and Andromache and perhaps in someday founding a new Troy in the rich lands of Epirus. Briseis was one of these women.

The former priestess of Apollo was now walking along the edge of the beach, being lead along towards the gathering of ships by a little blonde haired girl of about six. Her small hand in Briseis's larger one, the girl skipped and laughed as they walked, heedless of the salty water lapping at her feet and wetting the hem of her white dress. Teal colored ribbons had been braided into her wavy hair and a short necklace of white seashells bounced at her tanned neck. Nearly a hundred yards from the ships, Briseis stopped.

"Come on, mother!" the child laughed, "Hurry! Aeneas and cousin Paris said noon and the sun is almost straight ahead! Do you want them to leave us?"

Briseis looked down at her little daughter, a look of deep sadness in her eyes, and knelt in the sand so that their faces were level.

"Astyra," she began, "I am not going with you."

A quizzical expression splayed itself across the child's face, but was quickly replaced by a determined and confident one. "Then I am not going either! We will stay here with cousin Andromache together."

"No, sweetheart. We cannot stay together. I must stay but you must sail with Aeneas and cousin Paris. Do you remember what I told you of the gods?"

Astyra nodded vigorously, "To always keep an open ear to their instructions and to always be mindful of what they advise."

"Then you will understand. The gods have told Helenus that you must sail to Troy's true new home in Italy. And I…I cannot face another voyage. I have searched within me but I cannot find the strength."

Two tears rolled down Astyra's face as she listened to her mother speak. Be parted from her? She had never spent a night away from her mother in all her brief six years! Who would she stay with? Her father had died before she was born and Paris, she knew young as she was, hated her for him. His harsh words and temperament towards her left that in no doubt.

"But, mommy, you can't leave me!" she cried.

"Sweetheart, it is not I who leave you but you who leave me. I wish with all my heart you could remain her with me and grow up in peaceful Epirus but what the gods have written no mortal can erase. Aeneas will take good care of you. We have already spoken of this. And you will come to see Ascanius as a brother and Aeneas as a father. But never forget – " she gripped both of Astyra's shoulders and held her daughter firmly, her brown eyes staring into the blue ones, "who you are. Never believe that your father, Achilles, was anything less than a great man, no matter what lies Paris spouts in your face." She crushed her daughter to her in an enfolding hug, "And never forget your mother either!"

Briseis' last vision of her daughter was her tearful face peeking over the bow of Aeneas' ship as she waved goodbye. Then a favorable wind swept through the sails and turned the ship, speeding her daughter away from her and toward her destiny.

Astyra slept fitfully that night. She had never known the ship's bed to be so hard nor the rock of the boat to be so jarring. She missed the calm and reassuring presence of her mother. She had known Aeneas, his son Ascanius and his father Anchysis, before but only in a formal way. Aeneas was a leader, a ruler, to her, not a father figure and Ascanius was three years older than her, too old a boy to be bothered by young motherless girls. Astyra felt alone and forgotten on the big ship. Her own quarters seemed to large and empty. It hurt inside to miss her mother so already.

So eventually, she had cried herself into an exhausted sleep, curled up to one side of the large bed, cocooned in the coverlets, her thumb in her mouth, a habit she had abandoned years ago. Suddenly, a tall blonde man appeared as in a dream, playing a beautiful song upon his lyre, a mighty silver bow slung across his back. Rays of light seemed to emanate from his very skin. His voice echoed as he spoke.

"Have courage, little one. You are meant for mighty things. So the fates have measured out your thread. Your name shall be as your father's, remembered in the minds of many men and carried down upon their tongues, though his end shall not be yours. Do not fear the future. Know that I have promised your mother, once my faithful priestess, to watch over you and aid you as I may and remember her parting words."

With that, the man faded from her dream vision and Astyra awakened, blue eyes wide and staring at the cabin which now seemed so much less empty and foreboding than before. Reassured, she lay back down, repeating her mother's words and she fell back asleep.

"Pay attention to the gods. Never forget that your father was a great man, and remember your mother."

A/N: In case anyone wanted a translation to the Latin at the beginning, it's loosely:

I sing of arms and the woman, who, first from Troy came to Italy to the Lavinan shores, exiled by fate – much pounding she took by land and at sea by the force of the gods and the ever mindful anger of cruel Paris.

Just the first four lines of the _Aeneid_, changed about a bit (hopefully grammatically correct though it has been a while since my last Latin class) to fit my story. Anyhoo – please leave me a review. All thoughts, comments, criticisms, praise welcome  Gratias!


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